The Columbus Affair: A Novel

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

BÉNE STEPPED FROM THE PICKUP TRUCK. HE’D DRIVEN FROM HIS estate west, then north into the mountains, entering St. Mary’s Parish and the same valley he and Tre had visited yesterday, the site identified by the deed grant found in the Jamaican archives. The Flint River flowed nearby, as did a multitude of lesser tributaries dropping from the mountains toward the shore. Frank Clarke had followed him in another vehicle. He was agitated with his friend, irritated with more lies, hurt by how other Maroons might feel about him. He’d been good to those people, done more for them than anyone. Yet they resented him.

He’d searched for the mine on their behalf, only now to be told that they’ve known of it all along.

Ahead, a vehicle was parked, beside which stood Tre Halliburton.

He and Clarke walked over and he said, “How far from here?”

“Maybe a ten-minute hike up that slope to the east.”

A full moon cast the forest in a cold, pale light. Pink heat lightning flickered in the far-off clouds. He’d brought two flashlights and saw that Tre held one, too, along with something else.

He motioned toward the object.

“GPS locator,” Tre said. “Unlike the Spanish, we don’t have to grope in the dark. I have coordinates for the cave site.”

“You really think this is it?”

“I do, Béne. Everything points this way.”

He introduced Tre to Clarke and said, “He’s Maroon, and already knows of this place.”

He handed Frank a flashlight. Through the moonlight he caught the concern on his old friend’s face.

“What else aren’t you telling me?” Béne asked.

But there was no reply.

Instead Frank turned and headed into the trees.

———

ZACHARIAH STARED AT THE AMBASSADOR. “HOW DID YOU KNOW I was in Prague?”

“Those friends of mine,” she said in English. “Did you check on Jamison’s body?”

“Of course. Impressive.”

She nodded at his compliment. “The local mayor here is also a friend. After you contacted him earlier, I did as well.”

“And how did you know I made contact?”

“That phone you carry. If you use it, the world will know.”

“Which means you have friends in the Mossad.”

“Among other places. But, like I said yesterday, they know nothing. This is between you and me.”

“What do you want?”

“A private moment, and I thought this an excellent location.”

“How did you know I would come here?”

“The lord mayor assured me that he would bring you.”

He was uncomfortable with her presence. Yet there was nothing he could do but listen.

“I have to say,” she said, “when I first reasoned out your plan I thought it preposterous. But, on reflection, I began to see that you are right. The Temple Mount is the perfect ignition point.”

Since the 1967 Six-Day War Israel had controlled the city of Jerusalem. As a concession after the fighting, the Supreme Muslim Religious Council had been allowed to continue to police the thirty-five acres known as the Temple Mount. This was the place where God chose the Divine Presence to rest. From where the world expanded into its present form. Where dust was gathered to create the first man. Where Abraham bound Isaac. Jews around the world faced toward it when offering prayers. Solomon had built the First Temple there. The Second Temple rose from the same spot. So holy was the site that rabbinical law forbid Jews to walk there so as to avoid unintentionally stepping where the Holy of Holies once existed.

“You have never mentioned what my plan is,” he said.

She grinned. “No, I have not.”

Maybe it was good she’d come. He had a few questions of his own.

“God has never rescinded His command in Exodus that we build a sanctuary for Him,” she said. “Muslim control of the Temple Mount is like a dagger in the side of every Jew, and they are not going anywhere.”

He knew what Islam called the mount. Noble Sanctuary. The end point of Muhammad’s journey to Jerusalem. The spot from where the prophet ascended into heaven. One of the oldest Islamic structures in the world, the Dome of the Rock, was there, facing Mecca, built atop the spot where the Second Temple had formerly stood.

“We should never have ceded control,” she said. “What did they say in 1967? ‘If we try to keep it all, then there will never be any semblance of peace.’ ”

“Yet we gave the mount away and still lived in fear. Arabs threatened to invade every day.”

And they finally did. In 1973. The Yom Kippur War. Then, six years later, everything won during that conflict was given back at Camp David with the accords signed by Carter, Begin, and Sadat.

Damn Americans, interfering again.

He told her what he thought.

“We did learn one thing from those two wars,” she said. “Keep the Arabs fighting among themselves, and they will never have time to fight their enemy.”

Useless information, considering all that happened afterward. “I remember the day the Israeli flag flying atop the Dome of the Rock was lowered. My father cried. So did I. That was when I resolved to never concede anything to our enemies.”

The ambassador knelt down, examining some of the rotting papers. “They lie here, in the dark, and slowly disappear. So sad.”

But there was something more important. “Like the bodies encasing us.”

She stood and faced him. “I want to hear more about your spark.”

Enough. “I want to hear what you know.”

———

TOM TRIED TO PROCESS WHAT BERLINGER HAD JUST SAID. “You agree with me?”

“Marc and I debated this point at length. He felt strongly that the secret should remain hidden. I thought then it was time Jews were restored their sacred treasures. Why not? Christians, Muslims, Buddhists all have theirs. Should not we also be allowed?”

He watched Alle, who was processing everything that was being said. He decided to offer her the complete note. “Here’s what your grandfather actually wrote.”

She accepted the paper and read.

“Why is their such tension between you two?” Berlinger asked.

“She hates me.”

“Is that true?” the rabbi asked Alle.

She looked up from the page and asked him, “Why did you trick me?”

“Your loyalty is to Simon.”

“Who is Simon?” Berlinger asked.

And he told him.

“I know the man. He has been here several times. His money is appreciated by some.”

“But not you?”

“I am always cautious with men who offer money freely.”

“He’s dangerous as hell,” Tom said. “He’s after the Temple treasure. And so is the American government. Any idea why?”

He saw that the information caught the old man by surprise.

“Marc was afraid that, one day, the secret could no longer be contained. His fears were centered on Germany and the Nazis. Mine were, too, but eventually I feared the Soviets more. Neither of us, though, thought of a threat from one of our own. Is Simon after the treasure for all Jews?”

“That’s exactly what he wants,” Alle said. “He agrees with you. It’s time we have our sacred vessels restored.”

“But you don’t concur,” Berlinger said to Tom.

“That’s the last thing Simon wants.”

“Then what is he after?”

“My father,” Alle said, “believes Zachariah is a danger. You may or may not know, but my father was once a newspaper reporter. He was fired for fabricating a story. So you better keep that in mind before you start listening to his tales.”

He slammed his hands onto the table and sprang from the chair. “I’ve had enough of your smart mouth. You don’t have a clue what happened with that story. I understand that you want to believe I’m a cheat and a fraud. That probably helps you keep on hating me. But you listen to me. I made enough mistakes with you as a father. Hate me for those, if you want. But don’t hate me for something that I didn’t do.”

His gaze bore into her.

Alle stared back.

Berlinger gently laid a hand on his arm.

He faced the rabbi, who nodded slightly, indicating that he should retake his seat.

He did.

“We have to make some decisions,” Berlinger said, his voice low. “Important decisions. Both of you, come with me.”